Metamorphosis

If you've ever seen Cronenberg's "The Fly" and watched Goldblum's body transform in utter horror, then you can get a fair sense of what our trail-worn bodies our going through. A metamorphosis. From smooth, pale skin come angry red welts and bites and knots and sun burns. Although we trained for some time, our muscles are already getting bigger and harder. I may get back to the US with calves the size of watermelons and boulders for butt cheeks at the rate things are going. And the feet. Oh the feet! They're widening and building callouses like we were barefoot hobbits on a pilgrimage to Mordor.

Part of the journey is, of course, simply allowing the change to happen. External beauty must take a backseat to the most basic of needs. Like, 'I need to not wear makeup right now because I'm exhausted and lazy'. Or 'I need to wear my hair in a messy bun because who in the world wants to lug a blow dryer 1000 miles'. Mom has since discarded her hair fiber paste and mousse. See ya ounces of beauty product! C'est la vie! And Me, well, I haven't fluttered mascara-adorned eyelashes in a week. I've let myself go so much that I was absolutely mortified last night when in St. Jean de la Blaquiere at the dinner table of the woman who owned the B&B, her gorgeous son (a distributor of French wine and spirits in NYC) sat down at the table to eat with us. I spent the entire evening trying to hide my greasy face and medusa hair behind chunks of crusty baguette.

It isn't easy to let these superficialities go and allow the ways of the road take over, like a sun dappled idyllic cottage being suffocated by poison ivy. How we look so easily becomes part of our identity, so it's strange and even a bit scary to see a wild-eyed, dust-covered, frizzy-haired stranger look back at you in the mirror. It takes bravery to shake it off, as silly as it might sound. And I can say from experience that it also takes lots of moleskin, Bandaids, Cortizone cream, ibuprofen and dark sunglasses and hats to hide behind.

As a special treat, we've included pictures of the worst offenses. Beware, these are not for the faint of heart.





My bug bitten shoulder AFTER the healing started. Just days before I looked like an ebola virus victim.





Mom's reaction to liner socks. Like matching ankle bracelets, no?





The sunburn as a result of wearing bike gloves for the trekking poles. I call them my 'two-toned Popsicle fingers.'





Backpack strap gash.





God bless moleskin for my Frodo feet. Notice the pedicure has lasted. Shout out to Alhambra Nails in Sactown!

We tried to take a picture of mom's lovely waist strap welts but couldn't capture its essence. Use your imagination accordingly.

I promise no more medical pictures. But for all you out there with an odd curiosity for this type of stuff, I hope you enjoyed! We sure didn't.

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Location:L'Atelier du Soulondre, Lodeve, France